


Gan Ceann

by Jackidy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Multi, dullahan au, headless horseman au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3739432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackidy/pseuds/Jackidy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was 15 when the Horseman first appeared before her and if curiousity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back in ill health each time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gan Ceann

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t say that the headles horseman in this is a Dullahan but it was greatly inspired by them as they are my favourite adaptation of this creature. I took influence from the different types as well as some ideas from my own concept to create this. 
> 
> Sean belongs to me, whilst Niamh and Scott belong to hurrhurrr @tumblr

She’s a mere 15 years when she first meets the man, having run from the house to the gate at the sound of the horse, believing it to be her father only to find a headless man waiting there instead, a grip of fear laced with curiosity taking hold of her as the dark horse makes a noise of impatience, dark dead eyes looking at her.

He doesn’t speak though, merely blinking at her slowly and the want to reach out and touch him, to make sure this wasn’t something she had imagined, hand flinching back as the horse rose up on its hind legs before galloping off, the young lady stumbling back in surprise before running forward, climbing onto and leaning over the fence to watch the headless horseman gallop off.

The calls of her mother and the maids for her to come back inside are ignored in favour for squinting at the tree line, as if hoping to see the man again. Who was he and why had he stopped here? A million questions coming to mind and yet all would probably never be answered.

As a shawl is placed over her shoulders she jumps, eyes turning from the woods to the servant behind her, a fearful and nervous smile on the young girls lips. “Miss Niamh, your mother is worried; you should come inside before you catch your death.”

“But I do not feel cold.” She cannot keep the confusion from her voice, there’s no chill in the still August night if anything she is too warm, more so with the shawl draped over her arms. Niamh barely resists the maid’s urgent attempts to get her back inside; taking one last glance in the direction the horseman had left before following more willingly.

“Be as it may be, I did not mean as much, Miss Niamh.”

Her questions on the matter are not replied, the maid avoiding the questions as much as possible, changing the subject over the following hours. Within the following week she falls ill, a pestilence consuming her and the household becomes aflame with talk of a curse placed upon her for spying on the horseman, only silencing when the Lady and Lord of the manner were present.

After three long months she recovers, still somewhat weak and almost emaciated but she survives, questions on the late night visitor still on her lips.

—

Her suitor doesn’t appear to have an off switch this evening, feigning her interest soon becoming a challenge in itself as he continued to drone on and on about matters she had long since grown bored of, a properly timed yes and a smile when he pauses.

It’s a cool night, cool to the point it could be argued that a night time stroll was a ridiculous idea but her mother had agreed to the notion after the Scotsman had suggested it upon seeing her disinterest in the company. Oh, how Niamh wanted to say how the reason she was brimming with boredom was because of said Scotsman.

Sighing, she pauses as she hears it, the scream of a horse, a sudden thrill of excitement replacing the feelings of dissatisfaction as the possibility of it being the horseman comes to mind. “Is something the matter, Niamh?” She holds up a hand to silence him, smiling to herself as the other mutters to himself under his breath in a thick Glaswegian accent.

The rumbling of hooves makes her lift the skirts of the god forsaken dress her mother had forced her into, scrambling up the embankment to the road and ignoring her beloved in favour for possibly being trampled by a horse. Oh this truly was a match made in heaven.

An excited shiver runs through her as the air seems to grow even colder than it already was this summer night, breath visible and fanning out before her, eyes lighting up with delight at the headless man galloping towards her. It was him, it had to be, who else could it be? She doesn’t even care how foolish she sounded at the notion that it could be the horseman again.

He had been her obsession for 1 and a half years now.

And it was, it was him, Niamh taking a step towards him only to be pulled back suddenly, rolling her eyes in annoyance as Scott moved between them, the urge to hit him rising ever higher. The horseman pauses, regarding the Scotsman with a look before turning his gaze to Niamh, a crooked grin on his lips before eyes revert back to her betrothed.

His grin is nothing short of ghastly, black rotten teeth and a feral look in his eyes that serves to startle not only Scott but Niamh, a gravelly laugh escaping his lips that gave off the impression that he hadn’t spoken for weeks, maybe even for years.

As he gallops off, laughter still sounding out into the night, Niamh finds herself with more questions than answers. Who was he? Why did he keep visiting her? How long had he been like that and, a question she had more for herself than him, why was she so impatient to see him again?

—

At age 17, Niamh decides her mother’s ideas are, to put it bluntly, ridiculous in nature, her mother having combined her need for a masquerade ball with the more American idea of Hallows eve, the young lady thinking them all too old for this, even herself at the age of 17, but she dare not complain, least to her mother.

He’d been ill for 3 months now and, whilst it could be argued that Scott was no longer on his death bed, he was still in recovery, Niamh not sure why she wishes the other was there. Could it be guilt? If she hadn’t been so intrigued by the horseman he wouldn’t have become ill, he would be fit, well and healthy and she would now be Mrs Niamh MacIntyre.

Though, she hadn’t been left completely healthy after her last encounter with him herself. 

The night is in full swing when the man approaches, Niamh not noticing him until he was before her, offering a gloved hand and she merely raises a brow. Was he asked her to dance? Normally a man would be vocal and boisterous in it, make a show of it and yet he remains silent.

Perfect.

Her unknown dance partner seems somewhat familiar, the young lady not sure what it was about him, his facial features were covered, bar his pale lips that would only pull into closed mouth smiles and the brief glances she got of his dull green eyes seemed to be laden with mischief. The only thing she knows is he is more than likely mute and an exceedingly good dancer.

She’d never been graceful, never been adapt to dancing, the bane of her tutor’s life when it came to it but he doesn’t lose patience with her, keeping her clear of the other dancers and seemingly not noticing when she trampled his feet beneath hers.

As the song comes to a close and so does their dance, a frown gracing her features as she smells something off, it’s only subtle but the smell of decay, something that she could only describe as death about him, her eyes looking up to her dance partner’s face and pausing at his neck. Dark stitching, as bad as it was, running along an even darker line, as if his head had been sewn back onto his shoulders.

“You’re…”

There is that grin again, black and spoilt, strangely less intimidating than her last encounter with him, a pinch of colour blossoming in her cheeks as he allows her to remove his mask for, with his head attached, he was surprisingly attractive for a undead headless man.

Taking a shaky breath, she offers him her hand, returning his smile with her own as he takes it, no verbal exchange but what she wants him to do pretty obvious. Will you follow me, she asks mutely. Of course I will, he replies silently, the dance hall to busy and packed for the absence, or lack of, to be noticed by any in attendance.

If he feels the cold, he does not show it, Niamh shivering as they step into the gardens, a look of possible concern crossing her guests face but she can’t be sure, he is, after all, still smiling. “I’ve…I’ve had so many questions I’ve wanted to ask you since that first night and…and, well, I don’t even know where to begi-”

Her nerves go as soon as he presses his gloved finger to her lips, the horseman looking unsure for a moment before gesturing from his lips to hers. Was he asking to kiss her? Was that it? Of course, she couldn’t be sure, he didn’t speak and perhaps he had miscommunicated, Niamh not sure what to expect as she nods.

The horseman does as she expects, her chin tilted upwards and a surprisingly soft kiss pressed to her lips, Niamh unsure if she should reach out and touch him, as his hand cupped and brushed her cheek. She knows he’s dead, she knows he’s headless, she knows this is wrong, and that this is a sin.

She knows her fiancé is upstairs in bed, recovering from a fever and violent sickness that was, undoubtedly caused by the creature that had captured her curiosity, her lips and maybe even her heart. She knows he’s not entirely human, but she still finds herself wishing he was.

—

She’s 19 now, 19 and still a foolish girl by any definition of the phrase. Her marriage to Scott was within a month, a month until she was tied to a mortal man when the one she wanted was, by all means, not. How could it have gotten this far? Why had she let it? Why had she allowed herself to fall for a mute, headless fairy, which had left her ill every time they met without fail?

How could she even claim to love him, her headless horseman, when she hadn’t even told him she was to be married 3 weeks from now?

With the exception of the ball, he has always arrived at the worst times, she feels, turning as she hears the all too familiar horse, turning to Scott and smiling a little weakly. “I’m sorry, I must excuse myself, I am in need of some fresh air.”

“Do you need any company, are you still feeling unwell?”

“Ah, no, thank you, the guests need at least one host after all and you’re doing a much better job than me, Scott.”

Avoiding the second question, she offers another weak smile before weaving her way through the guests, no longer sure if she was feigning ill or not, stepping outside into the spring air and inhaling deeply. How long was she expected to lie to him about the horseman and why did she feel guilt each time she did?

Taking a moment to compose herself, she ignores the nervous feeling in her stomach, hitching the long skirts of her dress as she hurried along the patio and down the steps into the gardens, finding him stood by his horse, one hand stroking the black beauty’s mane and neck whilst the other supported his head under one arm.

It usually feels cold around him, Niamh shivering from habit more than chill as she steps into his presence, thinking over how best to tell him he couldn’t come by anymore, at least not for a long time. That she couldn’t meet him for these secret trysts nearly every week like she did already, that her upcoming marriage to a man she didn’t love was more important than he was?

The way he brightens up when he sees her is painful, Niamh breathing in slowly as she took the head from the others arms in gloves hands, fingers curling into curly black hair and kissing him a little too desperately. She had no idea if she would again, feeling the sickness start to creep upon her again, choking and clawing at her insides and growing ever stronger the longer the intimacy lasted.

Maybe she’s trying to say what she doesn’t want to as she kisses him, saying her possibly permanent goodbye, keeping her eyes closed both as she kisses him and doesn’t as she knows his impossible expressive eyes will just say everything.

That he doesn’t understand. That he’s confused, upset, and angry. That he understands that this thing they had was wrong, it shouldn’t have happened at all to begin with. That, despite not being human and knowing the concept of it, he somehow loved her back, when he shouldn’t have.

“We can’t see each other anymore, at least not for a long time. Things are happening that I cannot control and I…I can’t afford to…We can’t do this again.”

Niamh doesn’t open her eyes when the head is removed from her hands nor does she when the horse whinnies and gallops past, the hooves thunderous and whole heartedly terrifying, the force behind it knocking her hat off and it’s only when silence falls does she reopen her eyes.

She’s not sure why she expected him to still be there, turning and picking her hat back up before sighing and heading back inside. Not at all sure if it had been right to do the right thing after all, hoping the horseman would be foolish enough to not listen and return to her.

Though she knows how unlikely that is to be.

—

Her night is a restless one, finding herself waking at some time past the witching hour, her new husband beside her somehow managing to sleep and she’s convinced, for that moment, he’d stolen hers and left her in some state of insomnia that she hoped would soon pass.

Mind racing, she tries to figure out what the issue she was having, it wasn’t nightmares nor could it be blamed on a chill in the air, a spring wedding had seen to that. Perhaps it was the open curtains that let the moonlight illuminate the room, closing them having been the last thing on their minds as they had left the procession in a rush in order to consummate their marriage to one another.

Removing herself from the bed, checking the Scotsman hadn’t awoken, she covers herself in one of the thin blankets and slowly moves to the window, hand reaching and grasping the thick curtains and pausing as she sees the man.

No, no it couldn’t be. Not tonight, why did he have to come by tonight?

He’s sat upon his horse by the gate, eyes fixated on her and a small smile, seeing his head cock to the side from the corner of her eye as she looks away as if he’s confused, a small curse escaping her lips as he holds the flowers he’d gathered up aloft so she could see them better.

She thought she was over this, inhaling sharply as her eyes threatened to start crying, her grip tightening on the curtain subconsciously. Niamh hadn’t thought about him for two weeks now, having cast him from her mind and focused entirely on the slumbering Scot behind her, forgotten her feelings for him and had hoped to not see him again.

But here he was and here the feels were, hitting her with all the subtlety of a stampeding carriage.

“I don’t know what’s got your interest out there, but me and the bed are more interesting.”

Niamh tenses at the voice, the lips on her neck and the hand tugging at the blanket, though if it is for it to be off or to lead her back to their bed she doesn’t know.

She just knows the look on the horseman’s face, the drop of the flowers and the sting of watching a heartbroken look turn into a bitter one, unable to look as he leaves as her eyes looked to her husband slowly kissing along her shoulder as the gut churning feeling of guilt and shame slowly crept up in her again.

—

It’s been years now since her wedding night and her last visit from the horseman, years and 2 children, soon to be 3, her thoughts only going to him in the moments of quiet, when she lacked something to do, even if it was simply telling Scott she thought his existence was ridiculous.

But now wasn’t the time to think of him, the pains of labour racking her body accompanied with the worried looks around her were enough of a distraction. The looks were no surprise, two healthy children that had left her bed ridden for weeks and the miscarriages, this third child was a miracle by any definition of the word.

Maybe it was the entire price to pay for her affair with a supernatural creature; she had undoubtedly invoked his wrath that night she destroyed what happiness she had, why should he not return the favour?

Fingers curl into bedding, teeth grind and, when they don’t, screams of pain leave her lips. They were big, this baby was big, feeling bigger than both Liam and Chloe combined it seemingly, Niamh’s breaths leaving in heavy pants and, as much as the midwife seemed to think she was helping, telling her to breathe and calm down was just not an option.

Though it was only hours that had passed, it had felt like days, growing ever weaker as the second hand moved, wishing she hadn’t sent her moron of a husband out for at least he would have been some form of comfort amongst the maids, and medical staff who crowded round her like she was some form of exhibit at a museum and not a woman struggling to give birth to her third and, more than likely, last child.

As it finally ends, as the pain finally begins to cease, the babies cries and the voices seem so hushed and quiet, fading slowly and, for the first time that day, she feels relaxed and calm, letting her exhaustion take her and being thankful when nobody attempted to stop her.

Whilst her breathing begins to slow, she feels a small smile grace her lips as she feels the presence of something familiar, a presence she hadn’t felt in years. It’s comforting, refreshing, like a hug from an old friend or distant family member, like the kiss of a lover long since missing.

_“Niamh MacIntyre.”_


End file.
